Variation on a Theme by Francis Kilvert

The Welsh harp has no silver string, And it is played on the left shoulder. And the harpers all are older Than the counsellors of the king.

And they are becoming rare, Those gray and bearded men With young hands and long fingers,

But every here and there, By glade or coombe or glen, One of them lingers

Remote from all known ways Save those that music clears Through ash and sycamore To the door of their dwelling.

Whenever one of them plays, Whoever hears him hears Most beautiful old airs.

They are poor of purse; they rise May mornings, very early, And tradesmen think they are surly In spite of the wrinkled eyes Scored by their years of smiling.